The Married Life
by Jezzyka
Summary: For Erik and Christine, living together and starting a family under the Opera House is not as simple as it seems. A silly depiction of what it might be like...
1. Everyday Life

I do not own these characters now any literary or otherwise work pertaining to them. Except, of course, those I create myself.

* * *

Erik returned home through the dark passage way. The air around him smelled of must and mold, and his cloak swirled around his shoulders.

He would be returning to _her_, to she whom he had conquered. He had won her over with his music, his genius his darkness.

He returned now to his Christine, who waited for him faithfully. He imagined how she would look when he arrived, how she would sing to him and ask to hear him play her something, for his skill music was an irresistible force, manipulative and dark! After all, he was the Phantom of the-

"Erik honey, would you take the garbage out?"

_Ah yes_, he thought. _The simple joys of the married life._

* * *

"Doesn't anyone but me EVER do this?!" he asked, irritably, eying the vast pile of refuse which had gathered in the corner of his lair, overflowing its bags and containers and spilling out behind the organ. "And I told you not to put it in this room, it's hard to compose _anything_ while the senses are assaulted by this infernal plague of an odor!" 

"Yes honey, I know, it's just that I've been so busy today redecorating the other rooms that I had to put it in there-"

"You've been doing _what?!"_

"Well, Erik, this is hardly an appropriate place to raise young children! It's dark and scary, and there are so many sharp metal objects . . . " As if on cue, the two children came racing into the room. Wearing clothes tattered and dirty from a long day of hide and go seek in the bowels of the opera house, the proceeded to race toward Erik, arms outstretched.

"Daddy!" Erik Jr, the younger of the two at four and a half, screeched. "She took my doggy and won't give it back!"

"Well, **he started** it! He threw a dead rat at me and got my skirt all grimy! I was so afraid of that rat, daddy . . . " at which point, his five-year-old daughter, Charlotte, latched onto Erik's left leg and buried her face in his cloak, sobbing.

At the sight of this, Erik Jr threw his small body against the floor, wailing. "IT'S NOT FAIR! I WANT MY DOGGY! I WANT IT BACK! DADDY!" And proceeded to pummel his fists against the cold stone floor.

Erik goggled at this spectacle a few moments in wide eyed terror. "Er, um.. Well, that's ok now.." He mumbled, attempting to comfort the two screaming children. His Efforts, however, seemed to drive the two further into hysterics. Charlotte grasped his leg even tighter, crying out in the tones of utmost sorrow, "No one ever listens to me! Why doesn't anyone ever take my side? You only care for Erik!" Her thin little fingers seemed unnaturally strong, in what seemed the only trait she had inherited from her father; a graceful demeanor and thin frame disguising an intense physical force.

She cast a scornful glance at Erik Jr, whose tantrum had escalated severely. He was now thrashing around violently on the floor, flailing his arms and legs and screeching incomprehensively.

_Pity that neither of them acquired my intellect,_ Erik thought at he moved toward his son, limping like a severely wounded animal because Charlotte had still not relinquished her vicelike grasp around his calf.

"Um . . . Come on now . . . Stop . . . you're going to hurt yourself . . . " Erik quietly tried to console his son, to no avail. Sighing in exasperation he bent over and grasped the toddler around the waist with both hands, lifting him from the floor. Erik was careful to hold the child away from himself to avoid catching a blow from one of his still-flailing limbs, all the while quietly trying to talk him out of his irrational rage.

Erik had developed several nervous habits since the advent of his marriage. One was a nervous tic. At this moment his left eye began to twitch spasmodically.

"Hey . . . Er, screaming like that won't help anyth-ARRGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Erik let out a yell of pain and surprise. His son had **bitten** him!

"Erik, what's going on?!" Christine rushed into the room, paint brush in hand, looking furious.

Cowering before her furious glance, the only thing he could think of to say was, "They started it!" Erik immediately wanted to smite himself for such a childlike remark.

Christine looked at him darkly, taking Erik Jr in her arms and shoving the paintbrush at him blindly, worrying over her small child.

Erik could not help but shudder as he noticed the color of the wet paint which coated the bristles of the brush. Light pink.

Meanwhile, Christine had heard the tear filled pleas of her children, and had finished scolding both of them. She then took a small, ragged looking stuffed toy in the shape of a white poodle, and returned it to Erik Jr. Artfully, and then embraced both of them, and all returned to normal.

Erik was astounded. In all his life and vast experience, crying children were the only thing with which he felt incapable of dealing. These children seemed to him to be nothing short of a force of nature. Something to be watched and appreciated, and yet avoided in unseemly moments, but nothing to be understood, much less controlled.

Christine, however handled these problems so artfully. She always seemed to know what to do or say, and those two accursed brats listened to her, even **obeyed** her! It was in looking at her then that he remembered why he loved her so much and so deeply. Rhythm and beat wrapped their tendrils around his mind as he began composing a new song in his head, one he would dedicate to his love for

"Raoul's coming to take tea with us later today," Christine said absently, and wandered into the next room.

Beneath his mask, Erik's eye began to twitch violently.


	2. Unexpected Familiarities

Once again, I do not own any of these character or the literary works to which they belong. And thank you all for your kind words..

* * *

"What!" Erik shouted, confused. "I forbade you to ever bring that slow young fellow here, and you invite him for tea!" Waves of jealousy ran through his body. Was she still seeing him? Was she lying? And, above all, what was she thinking? 

"Erik, it's just that I haven't seen him in so long... I Mean, we were friends since childhood, and it's a bit rude to just go three years without so much as an invitation..."

"If you _must_ converse with that young fool, you may do so, but only in the upper floors of the opera house, where I may keep a perspective on your coming and goings!" Erik said cooly, thinking himself to be lenient. After all, his first instinct was to forbid her to ever see him again. He was actually being quite generous, allowing her to continue to meet him at all!

"I am not a toy to be controlled, Erik! I thought you had learned that!"

"Yes, dear, I know, but as my wife, living in my home, there are certain... Principles.. To which you will find yourself obligated to assent."

Christine blinked at him blankly for a few seconds. "Well, I am tired of only seeing him in the theater! It is only civil to invite someone into you're home, Erik, whatever will people think if we never have company or extend invitations?"

For a moment, Erik wondered if she realized that they inhabited what could aptly be described as a lair, five floors below the opera house, accessible only to the surface through a series of dark, wet passage ways and mechanized doors.

"No, Christine, I forbid it!" He said sharply. He was poised to turn and stalk off into the darkness, when he heard a pitiful noise behind him.

Christine stood, her tiny fists clenched and her sides, eyes swimming with tears. _She was sniffling._ "I..just wanted to..." she mumbled and choked back a sob.

_Oh, god_, Erik thought, knowing he was on the verge of agreeing to the unspeakable. Once again his eyebegan twitching.

"All...Right.." He growled through his teeth. "I suppose. But... Just...This...Once..."

"Oh, Erik! We're going to have **so much** fun! You'll see!" said Christine, who stood staring vacantly at the wall for a few seconds before wandering into the adjoining chamber.

Erik pulled out his Punjab lasso, that dark instrument of death, and began to run it through his hands, in what was another of his now familiar nervous habits. He set himself to pacing back and forth quickly, cloak billowing behind like a great black sail, when he heard an ungodly din start up behind him.

He whirled towards the sound, eyes ablaze with a dark light, prepared to staunch whatever intrusion might be disturbing his peace-

And he was met with the sight of Erik Jr. Mashing his hands onto the organ keys in what seemed like a random, noise producing frenzy. Out of his small mouth came the most disagreeable noise Erik had ever heard.

_I tried so hard to teach him some sort of musicality..._ Erik thought sadly to himself. However, no matter how much practice and training he bestowed upon his small son, his concepts of pitch and key remained among the worst Erik had heard, even in a child. None the less, the boy sang and attempted to play music constantly, often as loudly as was possible.

The child noticed he was being watched and turned, beaming at his father. "Daddy! Can you believe it?"

"Believe what?" Erik said pleasantly, admiring the beautiful contours of his son's face. It had been a great relief to him that his children lacked his facial deformity, and as he watched them grow, fatherly pride assured that he found them the two most beautiful (albeit noisy) creatures alive.

"Uncle Raoul's coming here! For tea! Tea time! Tea Time!" The boy began to chant in what attempted to be rhythmic, singsong notes, but came out sounding more like a cacophony of poorly emphasized syllables.

Erik blinked at his son, running his hand over the lasso. _Uncle Raoul?

* * *

_

"Dear, have the children ever _met _Raoul?" Erik asked through the door, loathe to disturb Christineduring her redecorating efforts. The question started off loudly but ended in what sounded like a hiss.

"What?"

"HAVE THEY EVER MET RAOUL?" He yelled, edging closer to the door

"WHAT?"

"**HAVE THEY EVER-**" His face was pressed against the heavy wooden frame of the door. "Oh, forget it I'll just enter. It can't be exceedingly vital that I not..."

His hand clenched, clawlike around the doorknob as he regarded the newly renovated chamber.

"**WHAT?** Oh, there you are!" Christine turned, paintbrush in hand, looking quite satisfied with herself. "What do you think?" She smiled.

Erik looked about himself in horror. The dark luxury of the room had been replaced with soft, pastel tones which brought light into the room and made it appear larger. Erik did not think it could have possibly looked any worse.

The walls were white, with light pink trim, and had been draped in places with a light, cotton like material embroidered with pink and blue flowers. The beautiful wooden table had been covered with a sky blue cloth that matched the fluffy carpeting she had apparently bought and installed herself.

He was struck speechless, and stood, mouth agape, staring into this nest of colorful distaste.

"I always thought this room would look better with more color, so, I just decided to try it! I have to say, I amso verypleased with the result!" Christine continued obliviously, smiling. "If only we could get gas lighting installed, these candles are so old fashioned and are constantly dripping wax on everything..."

Erik had finally regained his composure. He decided internally to acquiesce to this hideous change for the moment. "I am here to ask whether the children have already met Raoul, as Erik Jr seems to be quite familiar with his name..."

"Oh, of course!" Christine intoned merrily. "I take them to visit him once a week usually, at his chateau. He buys them ice cream sometimes, and lets Charlotte see the horses in his stables. Oh Erik, they enjoy it so!"

His outward appearance gave no sign of his inner turmoil, save his left eyelid, which was, aswas its wont, twitching rapidly. "I thought you said that you hadn't seen Raoul in a long time, which was why I consorted to allow him here in the first place. Why.. Why.." He said, his voice breaking. "Why was I never told of this before?"

"Now dear, I knew you would just become angry, and unreasonably so! And really, I haven't seen him for a month, I have been so busy about the house!" she said innocently.

"You belong to me! I will not have you dashing about the city, seeing this foolish young Viscount!" Erik cried, his voice escalating.

"Oh, Erik, it's not as you think. Am I then never to have male company because you can never trust me?"

"Male company, fine! Just not _him_!" He said angrily, his arms visually beginning to tremble.

Christine looked at him for a moment, her eyes large and soft as a doe's. "Erik, you have my word, my heart belongs to you," she said, her arms slipping around his neck and pulling him towards her.

He was instantly soothed. He lost himself in the glory of this woman, this sole being capable of love for him. Once again the sound of the new song wrapped itself around his consciousness, a ceaseless wave of notes which waited to be written down, to be composed...

"Now, go wash up and get ready! Raoul will be here in half an hour!" Christine Chirped.Erik groaned.

* * *

Without his mask, he let the cool water flow over his face, feeling safe and protected in the majestic, marble laden bathroom.. Erik closed his eyes, trying to mentally prepare himself for the trial which was to ensue. 

They snapped open again when he felt a warm finger prod his face. He looked down to see Charlotte peering at him inquisitively.

He instinctually moved to cover his face, but stopped as he realized that the girl showed no sign of fear or disgust.

_That's right, they have all seen this horrible face so many times as to be accustomed to it_, he thought to himself, wondering when it was that he himself would grow comfortable with this fact.

"Daddy, what's **wrong** with your face?" She asked loudly, looking at him with the air of a naval commander enquiring after the length of a journey.

"I... Was born this way," he answered slowly.

"Daddy, will I look like you when I grow up?"

"Most certainly not."

"Why?"

"Why must you beset me constantly with these endless questions?" He snapped, somewhat irritated at having been interrupted during his ablutions.

"WELL GOOD! I DON'T WANT TO LOOK LIKE YOU ANYWAY!" Charlotte yelled, and dashed out of the room.

Erik exhaled loudly and massaged his temples for a moment. _Is it normal for a girl to be that strong-willed? Christine was never like that..._ He pondered for a moment. _Well, _he thought_, maybe that's for the best, then._

He cast his eyes down to the spot where he had left the mask, feeling a sudden urge to return it to his face. It wasn't there.

He glanced quickly about the room. The mask was indeed gone. His guess was that Charlotte had hidden it, in a sort of childish lark.

_What a day this is turning out to be_, he thought wearily, as he went off in search of his mask..


End file.
